Invincible Summer
by BittersweetSummer
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy experiences what may be the best wintertime of his life. A holiday-themed oneshot. Scorpius/Rose


_**Happy Holidays everyone! Well, today I felt the need to write something, and decided to do a holiday themed oneshot. Isn't it weird that it's named "Invincible Summer"? **_

_**This is dedicated to **__**UndeniablyMe, chewing-gum-addicted,**__** and **__**Just Another Wannabe **__**for the reviews, conversations, and support. You guys are awesome! I hope you enjoy this.**_

_**I think that it won't hurt to have a little more cliché during the holiday season. Cliché is my specialty, and I don't know whether that's good or not…**_

_**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING RELATED TO HARRY POTTER. THAT BELONGS TO JK ROWLING.**_

_**--**_

**INVINCIBLE SUMMER**

_In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer. _

_-Albert Camus_

--

Scorpius Malfoy _hated _wintertime.

The teeth-chattering cold, the violent wind, the never-ending storms, the feeling of being frozen over multiple times.

He especially cursed the times when he had to take a shower first at six in the bloody morning.

Wintertime made Quidditch especially hard, with the winds buffeting him in every direction, and the conditions so bad that he had trouble seeing a foot in front of him.

He _despised _the happy-go-lucky attitude that everyone seemed to have permanently programmed into their lives at that time, and the gooey, cliché

expressions that everyone had planted onto their faces.

It was all so stereotypical that he had to stop himself from gagging once in a while.

Stupid wintertime. Stupid holidays.

At home, it got better, but being the pessimistic person he was, Scorpius couldn't help looking for some faults during the "happiest time of the year," according to his mother.

Although he didn't care for his parents making goo-goo eyes at each other, while cuddling by the fire, he dealt with it in the most mature way possible, by taking pictures and saving it for future blackmail.

His father's coworkers would _love _the see the serious Draco Malfoy whispering gooey nothings into his giggling wife's ear.

Like any teenage male, he appreciated the gifts and especially enjoyed his mother's celebratory dinner. He had to admit, it couldn't get any better than having a full stomach and sleeping in on weekdays.

Then he woke up and discovered his "forgotten" homework laying on his desk, glaringly prominent among the other papers, as if it were _mocking _him.

Stupid wintertime. Stupid holidays.

His parents got so tired of his "optimism" that they threw him out of the house and told him to go to a party at the Potters, who had oh-so-kindly invited him to the festivities.

Right. They just wanted to protect their reputation as the picture-perfect Potters. They could do _no_ wrong.

Smirking at his intelligent thoughts, he trudged through the thick snow over to the Potters, who lived just around the corner in their perfect little house, where they were probably playing pin-the-feather-on-the-hippogriff or toasting marshmallows on the fire to put in their sparkly cocoa mugs.

Quite truthfully, anywhere warm and dry would be like heaven to him, as his boots were getting quite soaked.

Stupid winter. Stupid bloody holidays.

He walked up to the front porch, feeling quite stupid to be interrupting their powwow, he knocked on the door.

And knocked again.

And for a third time.

Eventually getting tired of the hopeless knocking, he tried the knob, and found that the door was open all that time.

Feeling quite sheepish, he walked in, expecting Grandma Weasel to come bustling in with a knitted sweater and apple cider, with a myriad of red-headed children tugging at her skirts.

He didn't expect to be greeted by a burst of _loud _music, blaring from the magically-amplified speakers in the living room. Apparently they had charmed it so that no one outside could hear the blasting tempo, which quite truthfully, had given him an earache.

Before he could survey the overwhelming surroundings, he was dragged into a small closet, which muffled the noise quite a bit. It was dark and warm, and he felt himself instinctively relaxing, the buzzing in his ears having gone away.

He felt a flashlight being aimed directly at his eyes, and he squinted, trying to see his captors.

He heard the all-too familiar voices of Fred Weasley and James Potter interrogating him, one after another, not giving him time to answer.

"State your business, Blondie."

"What brings you to our abode?"

"Name?"

"Occupation?"

"Place of residence?"

"Business?"

"_That's the same as occupation, idiot!"_

"_Shut up! We're trying to be professional, remember?!?"_

"_Oh."_

"_You ruined it now. Have to wait for another victim--er--visitor."_

Scorpius refrained from greeting them with the traditional Malfoy smirk, and chose to clap the backs of both boys, who were done bickering, and got a thump on the back in return.

"Welcome here, ol' chap. Make yourself at home."

"I'd watch out for the mistletoe, if I were you," Fred warned.

"Unless you're near Amy Thomas, then by no means, go ahead," James smirked.

Scorpius smirked in reply (he couldn't help it) and headed toward the door, then turned back with his hand on the gold knob, asking,

"Your parents know you're throwing this party?"

They gave him a look, as if saying, _What do you think?_

He smiled, and walked out into the flashing lights and pounding rhythm.

_The Potters sure knew how to throw a party. _

--

Scorpius surveyed his surroundings, taking in the snack-filled tables, the dancing bodies, the laughter and (off-key) singing.

He also noted the "casually" placed sprigs of mistletoe that had been mentioned earlier, placed near numerous doors, all with an article of clothing hanging on the doorknobs.

The Potters may be goody-two-shoes, but they were still hormonal teenagers.

He navigated his way over the punch bowl, carefully skirting the enchanted mistletoe and the herds of desperate girls.

He found himself in the backyard, where there were everlasting heat lamps provided to suppress the chill.

Where he found himself alone.

With Rose Weasley.

Ah, _Rose_. If anything were the embodiment of perfection in its truest form, it would be Rose.

Carefully ironed clothes, wild hair tamed into a thick braid, and always such a neat freak that everyone thought her to be obsessive-compulsive.

She was such a stick in the mud sometimes that he wondered whether she had ever had _fun _before.

At that moment, his stomach chose to twinge, not unpleasantly, but rather nervously, only slightly.

He noted her carefully composed expression, her small, petite stature, and calm attitude.

She hadn't noticed him yet. His manly ego took a bit of a stab at that fact, actually. He was used to being looked at by _everyone_.

Rose Weasley should not be an exception to that fact.

He debated whether to walk away or to try and actually _converse _with the most highly esteemed Rose Weasley.

Before he could make a decision, she spoke.

"I know you're here, Scorpius Malfoy, don't let your poor ego take a beating."

He smirked (it was instinctive, really), and his afore-mentioned ego inflated a bit, if possible. At least she didn't call him _Blondie_.

He changed the subject abruptly.

"My, my, my. Little Rose Weasley, at a _party? _What would your parents think? No--what would the _professors _think of such an atrocity?"

She turned around, glaring at his stupid manly arrogance.

Funny, he never noticed how nice her eyes were. She was always had her nose in a book, and he never really had a decent conversation with her.

Well, that's all gone down the drain by now.

"Wow, I'm sorry to be criticizing your most esteemed personality, Mr. Stick-In-the-Mud. You never seem to find a good thing in _any _situation. You were probably dragged here by your parents, who are so nice that I'm surprised that they created a child like _you." _

She took a deep breath, obviously not done yet, but he interrupted.

"Don't you see the _irony _of _you _calling me a stick in the mud, Miss I-Never-Get-Anything-Wrong?"

He laughed humorlessly.

She stomped over to him, intending on beating him to pulp, never mind the fact that he towered over her.

Then something caught her eye, and the redhead groaned. This couldn't be happening to her.

At that exact moment, Scorpius looked up as well, and saw the cheerful branch of mistletoe dangling over their heads, taunting their stupidity.

_Oh, Merlin._

If it were regular Muggle mistletoe, they wouldn't have any problems. No, it had to be enchanted, courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes ("Traps unsuspecting victims under its spell, and won't let them go until they get some action!")

He could already feel its enchantments working on them, trapping them underneath its leaves, uncomfortable close, so near that he could count the number of freckles sprinkled across her nose.

She looked up at him fiercely, giving him a blazing look that once again set off that _twinge _in his stomach.

Something in his expression must have done something to her anger, as she suddenly sighed, the hard look in her eyes disappearing immediately.

"Well, let's just get this over with, then."

They stared at each other, uncomprehending, for a few moments, until he realized that she probably hadn't had a kiss from anyone yet. One look into her bright blue eyes confirmed that at once.

"You _scared, _Weasley?" he said, disbelievingly.

She chose not to respond, instead hanging her pretty head down. He was sure that he saw a tear fall, sparkling, onto the wood of the patio.

She spoke, after a few tense moments, her voice thick.

"It's pathetic, isn't it? Sixteen years old, and never been kissed." She laughed without humor, still staring at the ground.

Scorpius was never any good with crying females, and chose to go with his instincts.

He lifted up her chin, his wide grey eyes gazing down into her blue eyes, the same color as the sea. If possible, they were _brighter, _the tears making them shimmer even more than usual.

He forgot that he was with Rose _Weasley_, teacher's pet, organized, obsessive Rose Weasley.

He forgot the fact that they were under the mistletoe, at a rowdy party at the Potter's, her relatives, for goodness sakes.

He forgot that he was freezing, shivering even in the glow of the heat lamps.

Unthinkingly, instinctively, he kissed Rose Weasley in the shadow of the Potter's back porch, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

_And she was kissing him back. _

--

For someone without a lot of experience, Rose Weasley sure knew how to snog someone.

They stumbled out of the shadows, into the lighted part of the house's backyard, where the wall of the house that jutted out _just so _protected them from prying eyes, all enchantments broken.

They were acting purely on their own will now.

It was a flurry of smoldering kisses, hands everywhere, in his light blonde locks, around her waist, around his neck, on her face.

He tore the tie out of her hair, running his fingers through her thick red curls, inhaling her sweet scent, of chocolate and oranges, of something purely _Rose, _indescribable, too good to put into words.

She kissed his pale neck, savoring the taste of his skin, up to the corner of his red, swollen lips.

He growled, and pinned her against the wall, feeling quite on top of the world as he noticed her deep breaths fogging up the cold winter air, and her disheveled appearance, far from the cool and collected Rose Weasley everyone was used to seeing.

He leaned down, and whispered hotly into her ear, smirking when he felt her shiver, "Hard to believe you've never been kissed, Miss Weasley."

She gave him a flat, annoyed look, and silenced him with another kiss, one that was passionate and clumsy and gentle all at the same time.

They didn't feel the biting wind, didn't feel the icy snowflakes gently tumbling down from above, melting on their skin.

They only felt _happy, _indescribably happy.

They were _one, _not just Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley; they were _Scorpius and Rose, _and they were _in love. _

(Well, they didn't really notice _that _tiny tidbit until later…)

_--_

Throughout the rest of the holidays, Scorpius spent an ungodly amount of time at the Potter's, claiming to be breaking out of his anti-social mood.

In reality he was there to catch a glimpse of Rose, who started visiting often, for reasons unknown.

_Except to him._

Every "accidental" brush of their hands, every lingering glance over their essays, every secret rendezvous to a certain spot in the backyard left him wanting more.

He felt some rush of emotion when he was around her, overpowering, as if it were _impossible _to be unhappy around Rose Weasley.

He actually _dreaded _the return to Hogwarts, to reality, to reason. He never wanted to leave the fairytale of the holiday season.

It made sense to say that Rose also dreaded the ever-looming prospect of returning to school, which she had never felt before.

On the last blessed day of freedom, of snowball fights and snow angles, of warm apple cider by the fireside, and of all of the cliché things that he had scorned about weeks ago, he realized something.

When he was with Rose, the holidays felt warm and carefree, like the days of summer, where everything was put to a halt, and where people basked in the relaxation of nothing to do at all.

Wintertime felt like that, except with noticeable differences.

(For one, he had a reason to give Rose his coat or to huddle against her, claiming that it was too chilly for her not to be wearing one.)

He also found himself liking the cheerfulness, the optimism, the end of a year and the beginning of something new, something that lay ahead of them, with thousands of possibilities awaiting them.

Yes, _them. _

Scorpius Malfoy _hated _wintertime.

Until he met Rose Weasley.

_**--**_

_**Happy Holidays to you all.**_

_**-BittersweetSummer-**_


End file.
